


Shoes

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Tad Melancholic, Wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:53:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22875058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: Gil wanted a day at the beach for Father’s Day, which Malcolm had planned, yet when Gil had arrived to pick him up, Malcolm was underprepared.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo, Jackie Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Comments: 9
Kudos: 43





	Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> ran a take three nouns writing prompt, got wisdom, shoes, broom, wound up with this. no idea what genre to really call this; the best i could come up with was wholesome dad-fic.

There’s a pair of heels in the back of his closet.

Coppery red, strappy sandals. Flared heel just north of two inches. Suede soles bearing the imprint of feet, holding onto every salsa, tango, and cha-cha they’d ever danced.

They’ve retired from their graceful days on the floor, power in the toes, spins on the ball, steps in time to four and eight. They rest behind the brooms, among boxes of photographs and knickknacks, rarely seeing the light of day.

When they do, sun gleams off the buckle, bleeds into every strap, blooming life back into the shoes. They take turns in the studio, Tuesday nights at the Latin club, in the living room in front of the couch, on the grand floor of the New York Dance Festival. Press memories into his hands that burn, and abate, and soothe.

Gil’s looking for a photo to remind Malcolm he once wore a baseball cap to a Mets game, a fact he’s disputing as ridiculous while he digs through his things. That he please needs to put on a hat to spend the day on Fire Island, or he’s going to bake. That he doesn’t want to hear complaints from his mother that he ruined her precious son’s face. That hurry up, or they’ll hit midday traffic delays

He slides more photos aside and a label fills the space. He wouldn’t mistake that box anywhere. “You still have these?” he asks, lifting the lid and pointing the toes to Malcolm.

He looks across the room to the shine of fire flickering up from the paper. Eyes drop to the floor, mind circling between embarrassment and shame. “Yes,” he manages past the tightness in his throat. _Find a hat, leave_. _Find a hat -_

“They were her favorite.” Gil lifts the memories into his hands, instep cradled in his palm. The metallic red spreads to her dress, crystals and sequins alight in his arms. After she’d practiced, and when she’d come home, saving one more dance with him in the living room.

And a child, watching from the corner, first unable to voice how beautiful. Not knowing how she floated with grace, guiding him along so smoothly. Too scared to join in, yet eager to follow each move. Then cheering “You’re so great!”, and she ruffling his hair, “You are too.”

He learned more about love in those moments than years under his parents’ roof. “You’re always welcome here,” she’d share on the walk to his bed, and he believed her too. She’d kiss him goodnight and tuck him in, and steady clicks would exit the room.

“Your hat, kid,” Gil reminds, and the shoes are back in the box. Headed for the rear of the closet, peering between the brooms.

“Wait!” Malcolm calls, and Gil stills. “Can you - can you help me make a case for them?”

Years have passed, and he hasn’t managed to mount them in a glass frame, to put them on display. First too raw to see them daily, then sought after to ease the grey, until they pushed to the far side of his memory. How could he have disrespected her that way? “I want to put them on the bureau in the kitchen.” Where they would glimmer in the daylight. Where they should have been for quite some time.

Gil nods and leaves them out of the closet, resting on the countertop. “Sure, kid.” He goes back to looking through photos, and when Malcolm doesn’t move, he reprompts, “Hat.”

Gil wanted a day at the beach for Father’s Day, which Malcolm had planned, yet when Gil had arrived to pick him up, Malcolm was underprepared. And somehow now, he’s even less so. “Gil?” he asks, unmoving from his spot.

“Hmm?” Searching through photos for that one time…

“Would you be mad if I asked to make the case instead?” Malcolm queries tentatively, knowing it’s unfair to request Gil give up his special day. Knowing Gil’s already given up so much - why should he keep taking more?

He abandons the closet, facing Malcolm. “Of course not.” His smile seeks to convince whatever Malcolm’s worrying about, he needn’t.

“But the island,” Malcolm reminds, the only place Gil had selected after much pestering.

“When’s the last time you went to the beach?” Gil poses, amused by his inability to see the simple things. Malcolm shrugs, not recalling. “Why do you think I picked there?”

Malcolm goes quiet, realizing Gil’s still looking out for him. “How about we head to the art shop and go back to my place instead?”

Malcolm nods, collecting the box from the counter. “It’s a great idea, kid,” Gil encourages, massaging the back of his neck.

“Thank you.” For a litany of things he couldn’t begin to count. For moments, for memories, for years of his life he wouldn’t have survived without.

When they return, the heels dance in the light on the bureau, and they watch, sipping whiskey in the corner of the room. “So beautiful,” Malcolm comments, marveling each familiar step and turn.

Giggling as Gil kisses her neck, adding his own flair in lieu of her finesse. “Spin next,” she’d guide him, and the lamp would catch every reflective surface sewn into her dress. 

Gil’s foot counts in time with the tune; his wife reminds their son needs to go to bed soon. “Thanks for the Father’s Day gift.”

“It’s not - “ Malcolm tries to figure out how an addition to his loft is a present for him.

“It is.”

* * *

_fin_


End file.
